


Brass and Iron

by JazzBaby466



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: F/M, Henry Winter monologues, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Richard being awkward, periods are pain, ship only implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 00:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzBaby466/pseuds/JazzBaby466
Summary: Everybody is having dinner at the twins' place. Camilla has period cramps and is trying to hide it. Richard notices and makes the others notice, too. Mild hurt/comfort (as well as a short lecture from Henry about periods during Ancient times) ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taeyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taeyn/gifts).



> Umm, hi, Taeyn! <3 This is for you, I guess! ;) Honestly, I wasn't sure whether to even post this, much less whether to gift it to you. I mean, it's clearly not worthy of you, so please please don't take it too seriously. Mostly, I posted this because I know you appreciate gift fics and this contains at least a few things that you might appreciate. ;) Such as the subtle Henry/Camilla (we are such trash! Haha), the mild h/c, awkward!Richard being awkward and Bunny being reduced entirely to comic relief. Really, though, while I tried to cram a somewhat meaningful analysis of both the Camilla/Charles and the Camilla/Henry dynamic into this, the main source of inspiration for this entire piece was me suffering from the same thing Camilla is dealing with in this and wanting to write h/c to ease the pain. ;) Anyway. I hope you'll enjoy this! (But if you don't, that's fine. Haha! I'll write something more worthy of you eventually, I'm sure.<3)

To this day, I do not know whether I missed the imperviable strength underneath Camilla’s softness and beauty for so long because she hid it well or because I was, by some personal disposition, blind to it. All I know is that, especially during those first months in Hampden, she seemed to me in every way kin to Charles: the same cheerful, spirited yet gentle character, with the lovely addition of being feminine, and therefore – by default, I assumed – even softer and kinder.

What I loved about her brother, I saw amplified in her. It wasn’t until a few weeks had passed that it began to dawn on me that she was far more complex than I had originally assumed, and that underneath those beautiful features and the white wool sweaters was a mind as sturdy and impenetrable as marble.

Probably, it shouldn’t have surprised me that while Charles inevitably cracked under the pressure of the multiple horrors the following months provided, Camilla prevailed: shaken up, but never broken.

I caught a glimpse of that iron will one night, early on, when we were having dinner at the twins’. It was a Monday night, so this was routine for the group. Personally, I had only been asked to join them a few times before, but if I had felt uneasy and slightly awkward before, unable to shake the feeling that I, though invited, was somehow intruding and disturbing their private affairs, at this point, I was beginning to finally feel more as part of the group and had been looking forward to this dinner all day. Through most of it, Francis and Henry continued a discussion that had started in class, about the social status of Greeks in Rome, the sort of slurs that had been used to insult them and how they compared to modern forms of racism, which branched out into a discussion of the very nature of discrimination itself. Charles and I provided occasional interjections, and Bunny muttered grumpily about how you could never enjoy a dinner in Henry’s company without this sort of “pseudo-intellectual discussions” (the phrase an insult that would have never gone ignored by Henry or Francis had they not been so caught up in their argument), but he was consoled by the delicious food provided by the twins and went on to quietly devour an absurdly large portion of mashed potatoes with gravy.

Camilla seemed unusually quiet and strangely absent-minded to me, though I was so fascinated by Henry and Francis that I didn’t notice this before we had moved on to dessert. As soon as I become aware, however, that she hadn’t said a word for at least half an hour, I began observing her more closely and it was now that I noticed that she was rather pale and that her jaw looked clenched, as if she was biting down hard. Once, I saw her flinch, minimally, but in a way that was noticeable to anybody who was watching closely. I shot her a questioning look and she noticed, but responded with what was clearly meant to be a reassuring smile. Moments later, however, her eyes went vacant again and I saw her bite her bottom lip, as if to distract herself from some other, more prominent pain.

I was about to speak up and ask whether she was alright, but Henry and Francis still had their voices raised (“Never underestimate the pull of conformity, Francis”, I remember Henry saying) and I was waiting for a good moment to interrupt, when she suddenly pushed her chair back, quietly, but at the same time rather abruptly, as if suddenly overcome, and stood up. Avoiding my inquiring glance, she went into the kitchen, carrying her glass with her and mumbling something about refilling it, though this seemed to me like a pretext. I watched her go, her walk stiff and unlike her usual cat-like gracefulness. When after about a minute, she hadn’t returned, I got up, too, and followed her into the kitchen.

I found her by the sink, the glass empty and forgotten on the counter, her hands gripping the metal edge, knuckles gone white.

“Jesus, what’s wrong?”, I asked and her head snapped up, her stormy-gray eyes shiny with tears.

“Richard”, she said with another smile that was clearly meant to console me. “It’s alright. I’ll be with you in a minute. You can sit back down, really.”

I hesitated. On the one hand, I felt like I was hovering, invading her private space. On the other hand, she was clearly in pain and none of the others, not even Charles, seemed to have noticed.

“No”, I said in the end. “First you need to tell me what’s wrong.”

She smiled again, and my heart skipped a beat at the thought that she may be grateful for my insistence.

“It’s a girl problem”, she told me next, after a moment’s hesitation, and, as much as I hated it, I couldn’t help the hint of red that crept into my cheeks at those words.

“Oh”, I said, unsure of the appropriate way to respond. She smiled again, as if to say that it was alright and there was no need to be embarrassed, but suddenly, she flinched just like before at the table and the smile was instantly replaced by a grimace. Camilla leaned forward and tightened her grip around the edge of the sink even more, swaying slightly and holding her breath, until, a few seconds later, she let it out slowly and carefully.

“My God”, I said quietly, equal parts shocked and fascinated. “Is it really that bad?”

She nodded with her lips pressed firmly together. “Some months are better than others”, she told me then. “And the second day is usually the worst.”

As much as I hated to see her in pain, I couldn’t help feeling vaguely thrilled to be learning these secrets. Having no sisters, I had no experience with these matters at all and, standing in that kitchen, it suddenly hit me how embarrassingly uneducated I really was in the field. I knew nothing apart from the occasional remark I had overheard Judy Poovey and her girl friends drop.

Suddenly compelled, I moved a little closer to Camilla. I was contemplating placing a comforting hand somewhere, her back or her arm perhaps, but it seemed a bit much. “What does it feel like?”, I asked instead, automatically lowering my voice to match her confidential tone.

She let out a huff of a laugh that took me by surprise. “Imagine two hands reaching inside your lower abdomen and twisting and squeezing everything that’s inside”, she said. “Couple with the occasional unexpected stab of a knife.”

“Jeez”, I said, genuinely horrified. “That sounds horrendous.”

“Yeah, well”, she replied with a shrug. “It’s been happening to me for years. It’s about time I get used to it, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry”, I said and now, finally, when she suddenly sucked in her breath and shut her eyes, clearly hit by another unexpected wave of pain, I did place a hand on her arm.

She said nothing, didn’t swear, didn’t comment at all, only started biting down on her lip again, taking labored breaths while keeping her eyes shut.

“Shit, Camilla”, I said helplessly. “That bad?”

“It comes in waves”, she explained, her voice sounding pressed and strained. “I… hhh!”

She broke off, suddenly sucking in her breath again, face contorted by the pain, and I wanted to hug her and rock her like a child and kiss the top of her head over and over again.

“There now”, she said quietly, after a few seconds. “Just a cramp. It’s better now.”

“I’m so sorry”, I repeated, for lack of anything helpful to say. Then, I added: “Maybe you should take something. We could ask Henry! He carries around those pills, doesn’t he?”

“I’ve already taken something, Richard.”

“Oh, alright”, I said, somewhat defeated, but then, because I was so desperate to make her all better, I went on asking: “When was that, though? It might have worn off! It might be time to take another to – “

“It hasn’t worn off”, she interrupted me gently but decidedly. “It’s much better than it was.”

“But you were in class!”, I exclaimed, surprised to hear that she had been dealing with the pain all day.

“Yes”, she replied firmly. “I’m not going to miss class once a month because of this, am I?”

“But how can you focus if it hurts that much? I’m sure Julian would understand if – “

“Richard”, she interrupted again and took one hand off the sink’s edge to place it on her lower abdomen instead. “It’s alright, I promise.”

I wasn’t convinced, though, especially since next, she suddenly flinched again and pressed her lips tightly together as if to keep in a whimper.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry!”, I heard myself say, then, on impulse, I reached out and pulled her into a hug. At first, she struggled, but after a moment, she relaxed into the embrace and the sound of her ragged breath filled my head. Her body was warm, a little too warm, if anything, and I could feel the tension in every muscle.

“Hey Milly, Bunny wants more – “, Charles’ voice sounded and he burst through the door, breaking off when he saw the position we were in. Startled and slightly dazed, we stepped apart again, me flushed with embarrassment and Camilla still white as a sheet.

“What’s going on?”, asked Charles warily, a hostile note running underneath that made me instantly uncomfortable.

“Camilla isn’t well”, I quickly offered by way of justification. “She’s in pain, Charles. She –“

“What’s wrong?”, he asked, turning to his sister, but not with the sort of anxious concern I would have expected, but rather with a sort of suspicion.

“It’s nothing”, Camilla said sternly. “Just my period, Charles.”

“Ah, God”, he replied, cringing. “Thanks a lot.”

“You asked”, she only said tonelessly.

I was confused at the sudden tension between them. Having only ever seen them as the type of heartwarmingly close, emotionally connected siblings that invoked an instant bout of jealousy in a sad only child such as myself, I had been expecting Charles to be nothing but worried about her and sweet and supportive. I would have thought he would go out of his way to comfort her, yet he seemed, if anything, vaguely annoyed.

“Did you not take those pills?”, he asked in a strangely off-hand way, like he barely cared.

“I did.”

“Still. Rather than whining about it, maybe you should take more.”

“I had no idea periods could be this bad”, I spoke up, still amazed at this revelation.

“Other girls don’t make that much of a fuss”, Charles said pointedly, ostensibly talking to me but clearly directing the words at Camilla.

“You don’t know what other girls do, Charles”, she told him calmly, before suddenly tensing up with another cramp.

“What’s going on?”, sounded Francis’s voice and him and Henry stepped into the kitchen.

“Here you all are”, Francis said next, in high spirits after the discussion and a few glasses of wine. “What’s the occasion?”

“Camilla is in pain”, I explained another time.

“It’s quite alright”, she deflected, turning away uncomfortably when all eyes were suddenly fixed on her.

“Of course”, Henry spoke up, taking me by surprise. “It’s that time of the month again.”

“Oh, darling”, said Francis sympathetically and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear adoringly.

“It’s quite fascinating to consult Ancient texts on the matter”, Henry began. “In the context of the four humors, blood being discharged from the body, of course, hints at an excess of blood in some way. The body strives to keep the four elements in balance, meaning that this type of bleeding, as Aristotle says, has to be in some way necessary for a restoration of an internal equilibrium.”

I couldn’t help but stare at him in a mixture of disbelief and amusement. When I made a small startled noise, somewhere between a clearing of the throat and a stifled chuckle, Henry broke off and regarded me with raised eyebrows.

“I, um, well”, I stuttered when I realized that everyone was waiting for me to speak and explain myself. “Henry, that’s really not how menstruation works. Excess of blood isn’t the reason. You can’t seriously believe that.”

“That’s what Aristotle believed, anyway”, Henry told me, unperturbed and with cool authority.

“Well, but Aristotle, of course, had no idea about modern medicine”, I pointed out carefully. “We know about the menstrual cycle now. We know how hormones…”

I trailed off uncertainly at Henry’s stern expression. “Pliny wrote a few interesting things on the matter, too”, he said next, falling into his didactic voice and completely disregarding my brief intervention. Quickly, I glanced first at Charles, then at Francis for support, but it soon became apparent that neither of them were going to provide anything of the sort, and I was once again reminded that their ideas of medicine and human nature differed largely from my own.

“He believed menstruating women to have special powers, almost like evil witches. He thought they were tainted in some way, and that everything they touched was tainted, too. _A swarm of bees, if looked upon by her, will die immediately_ ”, Henry began quoting, his voice dropping to an even lower academic monotone, “ _brass and iron will instantly become rusty, and omit an offensive odor; while dogs which may have tasted of the matter so discharged are seized with madness, and their bite is venomous and incurable._ ”

“Wow”, Charles laughed. “Pliny must have never actually met a menstruating woman in his life.”

“Or women in Ancient Rome were of a different nature entirely”, Francis joked, with a small wink at Camilla, who, to humor him, opened one of the drawers and picked up a knife. “There”, she said, with a faint smile. “Nothing’s gone rusty.”

“How disappointing”, Francis grinned, and when next Camilla’s smile was replaced by a contortion of her features again, he made a sympathetic noise and squeezed her arm.

“That bad, huh?”, he asked in a low, sweet voice that I’d heard him use with some of the stray cats outside. “Would you like to lie down? I’ll put some water on the stove for you for a hot water bottle. The warmth might help with the cramps.”

“She doesn’t need to lie down”, Charles said with a harshness that surprised me. “Come on! This happens once a month! It’s normal!”

I didn’t know what to say or where to look. I just stood there, shifting from one foot to the other while Camilla closed her eyes and began biting her lip again. It seemed to me that somehow she had gone even paler, so that now the color of her face resembled the white of the wall behind her.

“Charles”, Henry said icily. “I think it’s up to Camilla to decide how she is feeling and what she needs.”

This surprised me. Henry I would have expected to be oblivious to other people’s suffering, except maybe on a superficial level without any emotional involvement; to, if anything, continue his lecture about menstruation in Ancient Rome. Instead, he was watching Camilla closely, and his gaze upon her was almost adoring in a way that I had never seen on him before.

“Would you like to take one of my painkillers?”, he asked her now in a low, almost private voice.

Charles rolled his eyes at this. It seemed he was in one of his irritable, more childish moods. Meanwhile, Camilla declined thankfully, claiming again to have already taken medication.

“Nonetheless, you should probably lie down and let Francis get you that hot water bottle”, Henry suggested with a sort of warmth that, once again, took me by surprise and fascinated me so much, I couldn’t stop staring at him.

“It’s her period! Everyone stop acting like she’s dying!”, Charles suddenly exploded.

“What’s going on?”, Bunny finally hollered from the living room and joined us, still gnawing on a chicken bone. “What are you all doing in here?”

We explained about Camilla; news to which Bunny, perhaps unsurprisingly, reacted with faint disgust. He offered a helpful “Marion never complains much about it” before wandering back off to where the food was.

“See”, Charles said pointedly in Camilla’s direction without looking directly at her. “Other girls don’t make that big of a deal out of...”

“If she says that it hurts”, Henry interrupted, regarding Charles with a calculating stare, “then who are we to assume otherwise. After all, we’re talking about something none of us will ever experience, Charles.”

“It’s alright”, Camilla said, though to who exactly wasn’t clear and it didn’t do much to ease the tension.

“Poor thing”, Francis spoke up next and grabbed her by the wrist. “Come and lie down over here. Come now, to the couch.”

“But the dirty dishes…”, Camilla complained feebly, then broke off when Francis shushed her. I couldn’t help but think that she must be quite worn down to give in so easily, and felt slightly alarmed.

“Jesus”, mumbled Charles, who was clearly still irritated. “I’m getting a drink. Anybody else? Richard?”

He poured himself some whisky on the rocks and handed me a glass, too. Meanwhile, Francis had guided Camilla to the couch and covered her with a blanket while Henry began to boil water for her hot water bottle.

“Galen, on the other hand”, he said conversationally, as if he had never been interrupted, “thought that menstrual blood was undigested blood from food, such as a bloody steak, that a woman’s body wanted to rid itself of.”

“Ew”, Charles only commented before downing the rest of his drink. Henry ignored this, only filled the hot water bottle the twins stored in one of their kitchen cabinets (the fact that he found it right away being, of course, indicative of how well he knew the apartment and how much time he had already spent there, most likely having prepared the hot water bottle for Camilla on at least one prior occasion, though this didn’t occur to me at the time) and brought it to the couch, where Camilla accepted it thankfully before placing it on her stomach.

“That’s better already”, I heard her say. “And I promise my touch isn’t poison.”

I caught the smile on Henry’s face, a genuine smile, so rare for somebody like him, that matched his voice when he said: “Certainly not. Certainly not.”

 

I think back to that night sometimes.

Camilla must have been dealing with the pain almost every month and yet, I never noticed anything being wrong except for this single time. Perhaps I was too distracted by everything else that was going on, but I think it’s more likely that she hit her discomfort well. And, of course, this wasn’t the only type of pain she concealed successfully.

Charles being so disinterested and rude with her, Henry knowing her well enough to realize when it was her time of the month… A lot of things that confused me at the time make sense in retrospect.

And perhaps, it’s not that surprising that while the terror and agony of the next months destroyed each of us in our own way, Bunny and Henry dead, Charles and Francis as good as, Camilla endured it all and found a way to deal with the pain.

At this point, I suppose, she was already well-practiced.


End file.
